


New Life

by Tallihensia



Series: Execution 'Verse [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-12
Updated: 2009-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallihensia/pseuds/Tallihensia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/23322">Execution</a>)<br/>Now that they've been reunited, can Lex and Clark really make it work, 200 years in the future? Expectations and presumptions need to be worked through first, and they have to adjust to their new lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Life

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams. ;-) This story was written for free entertainment purposes only and may not be reproduced for profit or altered without permission.
> 
> Notes:  
> It was actually a bit hard to figure out where to finish 'Execution'. My biggest problem is that a story is never really done – there's always something after. 'Execution' ended where it did so that it could still be part of the Tzone Challenge and have that whole "who knows what's real" quality to it. But if we take the future as presented as real and not a dream? Well, some more of it just had to be written. ^^
> 
> 'Execution' itself, though, stands on its own. And can easily have gone the other way. This is just one possible sequel. ^^;

# New Life

Richness, sweetness; an aroma of sugar, apples, and cinnamon tickling his nose even as the flavors burst in his mouth.  He had tasted anything like this in... he didn't even know how long. But it definitely reminded him of home, of his mom, of a childhood that was almost beyond reach.  And it was made by *Lex*.  His Lex.  Lost and now home again.  Clark couldn't believe it, even as he took another big bite.   "This pie," he said through his mouthful, "is as good as Mom's."

Across from him, Lex sorted as he carefully cut his own pie with a knife and fork and lifted a dainty bite up.  "No, it's not." The voice was biting, full of contempt and bitterness.

Oh for... Clark carefully didn't roll his eyes, but he couldn't keep out a touch of exasperation, "This is one of those things I'm going to have to get used to all over again, isn't it?" He also couldn't keep out, and didn't want to, the fondness that he felt and with which he looked forward to getting used to it.  Lex was here.  After 200 years, he was here.

Lex looked up, startled, though he quickly hid that expression with a superior mask.

Clark wondered how that mask had ever fooled his younger self.  It was so obvious to him now, the pain that created it.  "I'd forgotten about your tendency to put yourself down."  He remembered it now.  Though mostly what he remembered were the long rambling tales that had both fascinated and horrified.  Tales of a childhood of presents of military miniatures and books of philosophy had been presented by a young Lex as something for an even younger Clark to laugh at.  How much longing had been behind them? How much had Lex hid?

And his current-day Lex was glowering again, stabbing at his pie with sharp killing jerks.  Maybe the pie wasn't really as good as Clark's mom's had been.  He had no way to tell.  But whatever the taste, Clark loved it just as much, if not more.  Lex, here in his home, making this home real, making it come to life in a way that Clark never had managed.  Giving him that gift, though he had no reason.  Six months ago for Lex, and they'd been mortal enemies.  Clark had 200 years to get over it.  Lex hadn't, and still, he sat here at the table with him and was trying.  Trying harder than Clark was, actually. Clark was still a little stunned by it and mostly just following Lex's cues and doing his level best not to spook him off.

"So, if Shadow Savior is what you do for spandex-wear, what's your day-job?"  And there he was again, bringing a semblance of normality and a conversation to what had gotten to be a long silence.

Clark was a little thrown by some of the terms that Lex was using (spandex? day-job?), but he recognized the meaning well enough.  He grinned – Lex would probably appreciate this.  "I'm a museum curator." 

An elegant eyebrow rose, all the more dramatic for the swath of fine hair in the otherwise smooth forehead.  "I know I'd said this place looked like a museum piece... I didn't realize how accurate that was."

Taken aback, Clark dropped the slice of pie he'd held and sat staring at the pieces on the table.  Lex... had thought the home looked like a museum?  He knew he hadn't gotten it right... there was something just always a little missing.  But Lex had come in and swept through like a master wizard, correcting it with his little adjustments and putting not only himself but also Mom and Dad back into it.  …Clark gulped as he realized that he'd forgotten the most important part of the home:  He'd left out the people.  Clark had created a soulless image.  Lex was the one to bring life to it.  But Clark... hadn't even remembered the life.

"It was really quite an accomplishment." Lex's words came quickly, almost tripping over themselves.  "You've obviously put a lot of work and research into it.  200 years... and most of the trappings couldn't have been easy to recreate..."  Lex went on, pouring out compliments, detailing the work, noting the difficulty and how much was achieved.  Was Lex trying to *reassure* him?

He was.  Clark leaned a bit forward, trying to get another glimpse of those blue-grey eyes with their hint of apology and a determination to make it right.  Clark's heart speeded up.  His dream-Lex wasn't a dream.  This was proof of it sitting right here.  Lex might call himself a killer and Clark's enemy, but here he was, babbling his mouth out because he'd hurt Clark's feelings.  The Lex that Clark had tried to capture in the room upstairs, trying to remember that there had been good in there... that Lex *did* exist.  And he was sitting here, in Clark's house, having baked home-made pie for him.

Lex's monolog abruptly cut off, the mask being replaced by a look of panic, and he retreated.  Not physically, but it was like he normally went around with an aura three times as large as he was, and he was now pulling it all into himself, closed in and hidden away.  This part was starting to become familiar, though new to this century.  Clark couldn't remember his old Lex ever showing this much nervousness, even at their most intense. Or maybe he'd just forgotten.  With an internal sigh, Clark pulled his attention back, focusing it instead on taking a careful sip of milk.  'Pseudo-milk' as Lex was calling it.  Which, no, it wasn't made from cows anymore, but Clark didn't remember any difference.  Obviously Lex could though, though, being closer to back when they used to have it.  Distantly, Clark remembered the cows on the farm, and getting milk straight from the source – at that point, Lex would have been the one with the refined tastes, wanting only his processed milk.  Funny to think they might have changed roles on this.

And Clark needed to watch himself.  He *wanted* to just take Lex in a giant hug and never ever let go of him.  To make it all right. To hold him and keep him and make him safe and most of all, not to ever lose him again.  He wanted to hold Lex forever.  Though he'd settle at the moment for another hug.  Seeing Lex so close…  But obviously he couldn't do that without driving off the very person he wanted. His attention was spooking Lex, badly.  And he got it, he really did.  But he couldn't help it.  Lex was *here*.

Conversation, right.  "I've been thinking of adding on a Science and Technology branch.  Would you like a job?  We could do a special room on the evolution of kitchen technology…" He looked up with hopefully the right amount of humor and not too much of the need and *want* that he felt.  He had to hide that, or Lex would run screaming.

Obviously this time he'd succeeded as Lex relaxed and gave him a wry glance in return, acknowledging the amusement value of having a 21st century person working in a 23rd century museum, and sharing the silent laughter over the oven incident.  And... dared he hope?  There was a spark of interest there too. 

"I'll consider it."  Lex's voice was dry, though tinged with the amusement Clark had seen in his eyes.  "Though there'd be at least one condition."

Clark was singing so loudly on the inside (he didn't say no!) that he almost missed the condition.  Of course, anything. Anything at all.  He didn't say that out loud, though, instead asking, "What is it?"

"Cut your hair."

Okay, Lex had managed to baffle him again.  Clark blinked.  "Cut my hair?"  So he looked more like Lex's memories?

"With that mane, you look like my dad and I refuse to work with my dad again."

As the words struck him, Clark got to the bathroom as fast as he could and stared at the mirror.  Somewhere in the dining room he could hear the chair crashing to the ground, but it barely registered.  He put a hand to his hair, the shoulder-long curls...  "Oh. My. GOD."   Lex was right.  Clark gave a primal shudder.  How could he have...? Oh god.  Not that.  Never, ever that.  He remembered his first meeting with Lionel with a sharpness that defied the time span, and foremost in it was how much Lionel mocked his own son with his excess of hair while Lex had none.  He never, ever, wanted to be considered in the same category as Lex's hated father.

There was a noise behind him, and Clark glanced up in the mirror to see Lex behind him.  Casually leaning on the bathroom door, all long curves and sinuous body.  His eyes were amused, with that sarcastic edge that he never seemed to completely lose.  Clark was sure his own eyes were reflecting his horror. 

Lex's mouth quirked up, and Clark could see that little scar that had haunted his dreams for so long…  "Believe me, Clark, you're NOT my father."

That… didn't really help.  Clark looked back at himself, seeing Lionel's face superimposed over his own in the mirror.  The hair had to come off.  Now.  He started focusing his eyes for laser intensity and then paused.  Lex might want…  He turned quickly around and then moved past Lex in the doorway, hands touching Lex as he steadied him while passing by.  That touch, while Lex stood still, caught in the moment of time while Clark speeded through it, awakened a desire that he had a hard time pushing down.  He moved so fast… he could *kiss* Lex and Lex wouldn't know.  He faltered, thinking about it and time almost caught up, Lex's eyelids dropping down slowly as he blinked, his body turning slightly towards Clark's.  "Oh God." Clark dashed out, forcing himself up the stairs as quickly as he could move.  He went into the room that used to be his parent's bedroom and sought out the box he wanted.  Before he could get sucked into the memories here, he left again, going back to the living memory that waited for him.

Moving past Lex back into the bathroom, Clark clenched the box in his hand and slowed back to normal speed.  He held the box out to Lex.

Lex finished the blink he'd started earlier and quickly adjusted to where Clark now was.  That was one thing that his friend had over a majority of other people – he adjusted.  He took completely in stride all the various powers that Clark had, and just accepted them. In this age, when powers were common, it was one thing for people to accept when somebody moved a little faster than normal, or opened a box without touching it.  But back then…  Lex had always accepted.  He was fascinated, curious, interested, always wanting to know *how*… but he never once denied it.  Clark had been the one denying it back then. 

How much easier would their lives had been if Clark had just told him in the first place?  Would they have become enemies if Lex had known from the start?  It was something Clark had often thought about.  On the podium upstairs there were potential scenarios written out for each point he could have told and didn't.  Those moments had passed by, never to be recovered, always to be regretted.  225 years in the past.  And now?  Lex was here, now.  Not 225 years ago, but now.  Clark couldn't believe he was about to get a second chance.  And he was determined not to waste this one.  He would be everything to Lex that his younger self never was.  And if he woke up tomorrow morning and found that this was only a dream… Clark didn't know if he could survive finding out this was a dream. He wanted this so very much.  More than he'd known.  For so many years it was just a casual 'what-if' that he'd had in the back of his mind, a room set aside for the fantasy but not really possible.  And now it was here within his grasp. *Lex* was here.  Standing in front of him.  Real in so many ways his fantasy never had been.

Lex opened the box. "Scissors?" Both of his eyebrows raised as he appraised the shears. "Diamond-blades with synthetic handles and guards on the outside of the blades… The guards are composite... similar to asbestos.  Heat-deflectors. Your hair requires super-heated diamond blades to cut?  I'm surprised that works at all.  And the handles and guards are to keep a human from burning up when using this rather deadly mundane item?"

Clark took a moment to absorb Lex's intelligence and the sound of his voice reasoning things out, with that combination of pure scientist and wry practicalism.  He felt like Watson to Homes.  No slouch himself, but just never able to put it together the way Lex did.  When he was young, it was the most incredible feeling to bask in.  Most kids in his classes couldn't keep up with him even when he wasn't trying.  When he met Lex, finally, somebody had passed him.

"Who did you make these for?"  Lex's voice shifted into a lower tone, a hint of the steel and sharp edges beneath.

Clark grinned at this evidence of Lex's regard.  "He's not around anymore, Lex.  We're about 30 years past his time."  A partner who had been more than a friend.  But as he'd told Lex earlier about Lois, they'd *had* their life, as short as it had been for him.  Lex didn't have to be jealous of anybody in the last 200 years, for there was only Lex now.  Clark gave brief thanks that Lex had arrived when he did, and not two years earlier.  She hadn't meant that much to him… they had just been dating.  But that would have been awkward, considering Lex's possessive tendencies.  He was going to need a bit more time to work on redirecting the homicidal impulses.

Lex's eyes were still narrowed, but he let it go, moving on with a grace that Clark admired.  He removed the scissors and put the box down.  "Anything I should know about this?"

"Just be careful.  Once I heat the blade, it is, as you say, deadly.  I can't be hurt much, but don't let it touch you."  Clark was, frankly, just a bit nervous about this.  Maybe he should have done it the old-fashioned way.  But these were the first thing he'd thought of, and it was too late now.  Having given them to Lex, he couldn't take them back, and he didn't want to.  His first gift in this new life was not going to be a transitory one.

"Any style preferences?"

Clark felt his own eyebrows rise. He'd expected just a simple cut.  But then, Lex always had been able to pull most any sort of ability out of his hat.  "Anything you want."  Anything at all.  He told his heart firmly to stop beating so loud.  It didn't listen to him.

Lex nodded, and held out the scissors for Clark to heat.  When the diamond blades were shimmering, Clark turned to face the mirror, kneeling down so it would be easier for Lex.  He should have grabbed a chair.  They should have gone into the dining room.  He should have thought this through.  But he looked in the mirror and knew it had to be done now.

For the first half of the haircut, Clark wasn't paying too much attention to the cut, as he was watching the scissors and Lex's hands.  But Lex was being careful, deliberate in his movements.  Clark started to relax.  And to enjoy Lex's touch as Lex threaded his fingers through his hair, turned his face to one side, tilted his head down… touching.  Clark's lids fell shut as his whole being focused into the feel.  Haircuts were very intimate actions.  Having somebody that close to you, trusting them with something that could hurt you, having them running their fingers through your hair…  Having *Lex* touch him… it wasn't sex, but it was about as close as he was probably going to get to it for awhile.  He breathed in even breaths and let himself absorb all of it.

With a final hum, Lex stepped back, leaving Clark bereft.  Clark opened his eyes and tried to meet the light blue ones in the mirror, but Lex was studying his work critically.  "All right, that's it." 

Clark blinked.  There was still some long hair in the back that was draping down to its former length, though straightened out.  And the rest of it…  Lex hadn't just lopped off the ends.  He'd trimmed the edges fairly short on both sides while leaving the top and the bangs a little bit longer but not as much as they had been.  Clark touched the back of his head, feeling it. "I thought you were going to cut it off."

Lex grinned wickedly. "There is something to be said for longer hair," he purred, voice dropping an octave that went straight to Clark's gut.  Or maybe a little lower.  "And my dad wouldn't have been caught dead in a mullet, so there's no more resemblance."  The blue eyes finally met Clark's.  "I like it."

And that decided the issue right then and there.  Clark couldn't tear his gaze away, trapped and caught and enjoying the feeling.  He was sure he was being teased in some fashion, but that was a good thing... suddenly Clark broke off the eye lock with Lex and studied himself again in the mirror.  "That guy that your Angel Hero always fought…" 

Lex's grin reached villain proportions.  "Devilicus.  And Warrior Angel."

Clark ran his hand through the new cut, feeling it, testing it.  It was probably meant to be a barb, but really, he was flattered.  For Lex to have pulled out something he associated that strongly with something he liked…  Yes, the other guy was supposed to be the enemy.  But Clark had always wondered about that – or at least he remembered himself wondering.  He couldn't actually recall any of the stories themselves.  And his hair tickled.

With a sneeze, Clark remembered the other problem about not making sure one prepped before a hair cut.  All the loose ends had made their way under his shirt and were now making their presence known uncomfortably.  With a flinch as one got him right in the back of the neck, he pulled off his shirt and bushed himself off. 

Behind him, Lex gasped.

Clark paused mid-brush and looked up to the mirror.  Lex's eyes weren't meeting his.  No, they were tracking over his bare back instead.  And his heart rate and breathing had speeded up...  Maybe this attraction wasn't so one-sided?  Lex had given a few hints of it earlier, but nothing that couldn't have been mistaken or just banter.  This… Lex was definitely looking interested, and combined with that heart rate…  Involuntarily, Clark straightened up and turned around, a grin he couldn't help spreading across his face.

Again, Lex's breath caught, and his eyes never made it all the way up to Clark's face.  A slight flush started to show on his skin, and he moved, an agitated, restless motion, shifting his body and dropping his hands.

Within the instant, Clark reached out and grabbed Lex's hand in a tight grip, holding him immobile, while his other hand pushed against Lex's waist.

Even without superpowers, Lex's response was almost as instantaneous, his body erupting into violent struggle, while his eyes flashed up to Clark's, a snarl of hate and defiance breaking through his lips.  "Fuck you, asshole!" His voice was virulent with bitter hatred, laced through with a hefty portion of fear.  Terror and anger, exploding in his automatic reaction against Clark.

"Lex!" Clark tried to contain him without hurting him, which was proving to be impossible.  He tightened his left hand's grip on Lex's wrist. Lex was struggling so much that Clark wasn't going to be able to protect him if he couldn't get through.  "The scissors!"  He twisted so that it was his right hand that came in contact with the blades instead of Lex's body.  He hissed at the pain, even as Lex abruptly stilled.

Lex was holding himself absolutely rigid, not moving at all, his lungs heaving and his body trembling.  Clark could feel the effort it was taking him.  The blue eyes were still wide with anger, fear, and hatred, but they were tempered now, Lex tramping down on his feelings through sheer force of will, forcing himself not to struggle. Cautiously, Clark released his hold on Lex's wrist.  He winced as he saw the reddened and raw skin.  Lex was going to have a bone-deep bruise, if not a sprain. He x-rayed it and saw fractures in several of the small bones.  Lex's hand was trembling, but slowly his fingers unclenched from around the handles.  He made a slight motion as if to hold out the scissors, but his hand didn't move that far and he wasn't able to completely release it.  Lex's breaths were coming deep, gulping in air, his heartbeat racing… and not calming down at all, despite his stillness.  It was Clark's proximity that was doing this. 

Clark took the scissors by the blade, pulling them from Lex's looser grip, wincing as he did so, the smell of burning flesh rising between them.  But he would heal faster than Lex.  He turned away, putting the deadly mundane instrument back into its box and shutting it closed.  For a moment, he watched as the contact burn on the back of his right hand healed, the skin changing from the angry red to pink and then matching the rest.  His left hand would take a bit longer, the inside having been charred deeply where he grabbed the blade.  He didn't dare look at Lex.  He knew Lex would be bruised and battered from the struggle where he'd thrown himself against Clark, his muscles torn from trying to extract himself from Clark's grip, his abdomen bruised where Clark had tried to push him away from the blade.  "This was a bad idea," Clark whispered, his head bowed down.  He took the box and moved past Lex, turning so his back was to him as he passed by in the narrow doorway.  Lex moved to give him room, but didn't say anything.  His breathing was starting to even out, his heart rate almost as fast but minutely slowing.  "I'll be back in a bit."  Clark walked up the stairs, his feet leaden.

He'd hurt Lex.  He'd wanted to share something special, and instead…  Clark shuddered.  He put the box back in its place.  He'd thought to give it to Lex.  Not now.  Now he hated the very sight of it.  Clark left the master room and walked to his room, to Lex's room.  But he didn't go in.  He put a hand on the closed door and thought about everything in there, everything he'd collected about Lex, everything he'd put on display.  All the lies he'd sold himself on over the long years.  Clark turned away, staring blindly down the hall, his gaze skittering past all the photos and stillvids and holos through the years, finally resting upon one near the top of the stairs, where his earliest ones were.  He found himself standing next to it, not quite sure how he'd gotten there, if he'd walked or flew or just blipped in dream-fashion.  The photo he'd chosen to display inside the room was one of the two of them interacting normally, everyday closeness.  This one out here was both more formal and more relaxed at the same time. Taken at Lex's first wedding with the two of them in their tuxes, Lex's arm around his shoulders, both of them grinning from ear to ear… there was no sign of anything but friendship and happiness in those eyes.  No hate, no fear.

Clark sat down on the top of the stairs, burying his head in his hands, slumping over.  Lex… hated him.  For all that Lex had *said* so earlier, for all his little displays of temper and anger, most of it was, as Clark had told him, just an outward show.  Something Lex had put on as he did his masks.  Not that the feelings weren't real, but they weren't bone deep.  Not like this.  Clark heaved in a gasp of air, trying to get oxygen to his lungs that felt like they'd closed up and he couldn't breathe.  It had been so instinctive, so instant, Lex's reaction.  There was no thought, no rationalization.  That was the reaction of a wounded and abused animal, fighting to free itself from one that had hurt it.  An animal in a trap, ripping its leg off to be free.  "Lex, what did I *do* to you?"  Even more than the hate and the anger, it was the fear in those blue eyes that struck Clark to his core.  It was specific, directed.  That wasn't the struggle against anybody who had happened to grab him, it was against *Clark.*  Or more specifically, probably, against his former alter ego, Superman.

Lex had told him they'd been enemies.  Clark hadn't believed it.  Not really.  Over the years, he'd reminded himself so much of the early days when they had been friends… that was the part he'd come to believe in.  When the proximity alert had sounded and he'd come over to redirect the intruder, and then found it was Lex…  He'd never once stopped to think.  From that moment, he'd just been in a dream world, following Lex around, unable to process that he was really here.  Eventually coming to believe it (maybe) but still not really thinking about what it *meant*.  Especially for Lex.  Six months, though from what Lex had said, it was really only two months aware.  Straight from his execution where Clark had watched as they killed him, to here.  Bypassing all 200 years and bringing with him all of his experiences direct with no dilution.  Yet Lex *had* quoted the Kyrptonian poetry at him, even as he was about to die.  And Clark hadn't failed to note the easy interaction they'd had when figuring out the oven.  His heart had been in his throat when Lex had fainted, but Lex hadn't struggled against him then.  There had been no hate or fear in his eyes when he'd woken up, just the fond exasperation of an adult dealing with a long-distant teenager.  Everything they'd been through, in these short hours, had seemed to confirm Clark's thought that they'd been friends despite the historical data.  Sure, by the records, Lex had been a bit homicidal and possibly a bit insane, but that could be explained and wasn't important. Not as important as their friendship.  Or so he'd told himself.

He'd honestly never really thought about it, not seriously.  This was all supposed to be a fantasy, something that would never actually happen.  Nobody built shrines to people they *expected* to go out with… it was always to the unobtainable, the safe harmless obsessions while they went on with regular life. Worship from afar.  And he'd done it too.  Built his little room, secure in the knowledge that Lex was gone forever, wallowing in his 'what-ifs' and regretting his stupidity of youth.

But Lex *was* here, in this time, in this place.  It was a dream come true… but it was also real.  Not one of his fantasies tucked away in the room. He had to deal with a real flesh and blood human being who had a full set of emotions and reactions.  Somebody just a few months away from Clark's last betrayal.  Clark had turned him over to the police, had watched him be sentenced to death, had watched that injection flow into his veins.  And Clark expected him to get over it just because it had been 200 years in his time?  Lex hated him; Lex feared him. With good reasons.  And Clark was going to have to accept that before they could both move on.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs drew him from his thoughts.  He didn't want to look up… but he did.  Lex, though, just glanced briefly at him before his gaze went to everything around them.  Cataloging and evaluating all the pictures and stillvids.  Clark could see it when Lex found the photo of them.  Lex reached a hand out, touching the wall next to the old frame.  Then he turned around and sat down on the stairs a step down from Clark, his gaze on the wall, not meeting Clark's eyes.

"Why is your hair so soft?"

Clark blinked.  And shook his head and then blinked again.

"We had to hack it off with super-heated diamond shears, and yet on you it's soft and fine, and the chopped off bits are also like that.  They feel like normal hair, they bend like normal hair, they even cut like normal hair, once it's off your head.  Why?  If you're the Man of Steel, shouldn't it all be steel?  If it's not because it's dead cells, than why did we have such a hard time cutting it?"

With an involuntary huff, Clark started shaking with silent laughter.  This.  This too was Lex.  The whole time he'd been up here having a mental breakdown, Lex had been experimenting on the hair clippings left behind, and then came up to fetch him back to the now.  God, Clark loved him.

When he could, Clark spoke.  "I'm not invulnerable so much as protected might be a better term."  Clark looked down at the slender man reclining not a foot from his leg. Casually sitting sideways on the step in an elegant slouch, his shoulders resting against one wall, one leg propped on the opposite wall while the other leg dangled down to the next step.  He was the complete picture of relaxation and casualness.  Hardly the pose of somebody who had been struggling intensely against his mortal enemy just a bit ago.  And yet it was so.  And neither Lex was a lie.  This one might be a bit more calculated, but his heart rate and breathing were perfectly calm, confirming his relaxed state.  Lex didn't automatically fear and hate him, as long as he controlled the situation.  Clark would have to make sure that was the case from now on.

"Protected?" Lex's voice sharpened, interested, hiding a touch of eagerness.

Clark smiled.  He looked at the smooth head so near to him, within reach, within touch… the temptation to reach out and touch and hug was almost overwhelming, despite his immediately previous resolution to leave Lex alone.  There was something in him that just responded to Lex so desperately.  "My body absorbs solar radiation and then projects it in a refined aura about a centimeter around me.  This aura is what protects me from most things, including kinetic and thermal forces.  As long as everything is touching me, my aura also protects what I wear, and also my hair and my fingernails."  He grinned.  He'd once thought also it was *him* who was invulnerable, but after multiple battles where he was hurt and there was no kryptonite in sight, they started looking for other answers.  "My hair and nails are a bit more protected than the clothes, though, since they're directly a part of me even if they're dead cells."

"Super-heated diamond blades?"

"Some things can get through the aura with enough force, or slow penetration.  Or if the aura is down."  Clark was silent for a moment.  If he'd been thinking earlier, the scissors weren't the smartest of things for him to give to Lex. There were much less dangerous methods.

"They're new.  Well, newer.  What did you use to cut your hair before them?"  Lex was nothing if not persistent.  But Clark liked that.

"If I'm by myself, I usually just burn it off with my heat rays.  That's how I shave, too.  The hair is weaker than my skin and I can balance it so I burn it and not me. If somebody else is going to cut it, usually we just bring in a portion of kryptonite and then cut it with regular scissors."

Lex actually turned around and looked at him sharply at this, his blue eyes boring into Clark.

Clark shrugged, "It was pretty easy, once we'd worked out just what kryptonite does, to come up with the right proportion that would bring the aura down without significantly hurting me."  Before they'd worked that out… yes, it had hurt.  Having enough kryptonite so he'd been weakened – they used to tend to over-compensate with more rather than less. Haircuts hadn't been fun.

"But you made the scissors…"

That did seem a little illogical, didn't it?  On it's own.  Clark closed his eyes.  "Jess had been hurt badly saving me from a kryptonite-trapped space.  He didn't mutate… but he'd absorbed a lot of the radiation.  Any more of it, even the least concentration, would have killed him.  But he loved to cut my hair…"  It was all part of their love, their trust, their partnership.  So they'd found a new way.  They'd spent years together, learning to be careful around each other, learning to watch the dangers.  Clark shouldn't have exposed Lex to those dangers with no warning.  But he hadn't *thought*.

"Lex, what did I do to you back then?" Clark whispered, remembering the hatred, the fear, the pain. Remembering Lex struggling, trying so desperately to get away that he hurt himself doing so.

There was only silence from the person beside him, but Clark didn't change his question.  He listened to the slow steady beat of Lex's heart, reassured by it.  Almost… almost he could let it go.  But he didn't want to. If he didn't get his answer now, he may never have it.

Finally, Lex sighed, "What do you remember doing?"

Clark… completely blanked.  He knew he'd just been thinking about it, but with the question and Lex there in front of him, he couldn't remember anything specific.  He glanced up to the room, and started to get up, but a hand on his leg stopped him.

"You.  Not your room, not the newspaper reports, not the memoirs or the other bits of flotsam."

"I… I'd arrested you and turned you in to be executed."  Only a small portion of his attention was on the answer.  The rest of it was on his leg where Lex's hand rested.  He tried to soak up the feeling, not sure if it would happen again.  Lex, touching him.  Leaving his hand there, a gentle weight, a firm hold, preventing movement without pushing.  Controlled.  And still there.  Clark wanted to look down, but he *was* in the middle of a conversation and didn't want Lex to think he wasn't paying attention.  Though he wasn't, not entirely.  Lex was *touching* him!

Blue eyes stared at him in disbelief. "I'd just killed twenty people by blowing that building up! Not to mention it was the *police* that arrested me."

"The building was an accident."

"It was carelessness.  That still works out to manslaughter."  Lex waved a dismissive hand, moving it off Clark's leg.  "Never mind that part, find something else."

And there was no longer any impediment to Clark thinking about the answer.  Trying not to regret that, Clark took a deep breath.  "When you hit me with your car, I told you you didn't.  When you got me off the hazing pole, I told you I was alright and didn't tell you about the danger.  When you gave me the necklace, I didn't tell you it hurt.  I told you I didn't want gifts, and then I took them every time Dad wasn't around. When we were locked in the plant, I let you think I figured out where the elevator was and I let you think I was braver than I was.  I never came back to see how you were that night. When—"

"ENOUGH!"  Lex put his hand over Clark's mouth. 

From sheer surprise, Clark stopped speaking and then held very still trying not to disturb the fingers on his lips.

Lex huffed out an annoyed laugh and let his hand drop.  "Well, that explains a lot."

Ghost tingles were still drifting on his lips.  Clark resisted putting his own hand up to trace it.  "What?"

"Fuck."  Lex leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back, exposing the long line of his neck.  He sighed, a long drawn-out sound that sent shivers down Clark's spine as he worried about what Lex was thinking.  Eventually, Lex went on. "At some point, you decided to go on the biggest guilt trip of your life and you thought all this shit out.  And then, you wrote it all down.  Then you went on with your life when you were done with your wallow.

"Who knows how long then, but at some other point, you came back, found your writings, read them, and agreed with yourself.  And put them away.  More time passes, you decide to make a book of your crimes against a Luthor, and you rewrite all the original notes.  And so on."  Lex shook his head before he turned and looked straight into Clark's eyes.  "You don't *know* any of this any more.  What you know, is what you told yourself.  But the memories themselves?  Somewhere lost to time."

Clark swallowed, feeling the weight of those years.  Lex wasn't all that far off in his reasoning.  Clark tried desperately to *remember* what it had been like on that riverbank, pulling Lex out of his car, giving him breath… and he trembled as he remembered the words he'd written instead.  "'I met his eyes, wide with horror, even as he tried to turn the car away.  Then I felt the impact, slamming me through the bridge, tearing me away from that gaze and I was falling through the air.'"  Clark swallowed again.  "Lex, I *want* to remember…"

The blue eyes that he'd thought he'd remembered so well softened as a gentle hand laid itself upon his cheek.  Clark trembled, leaning into the touch.

"No you don't."

"Lex…"

A finger traced his lips, shutting him up again.  "You don't.  If you remember all of that, all of the reasons I have to hate you, then you would also remember all the reasons *you* have to hate *me*, and then you would again."  Lex's mouth quirked, his scar twisting with the motion.  "Forgive me if I'd rather not go back to that."

"I wouldn't—"

"You would."  Lex sounded absolutely sure of that.

And Clark couldn't say he was wrong.  As Lex had just pointed out, he didn't *know*.  200 years ago, and he had forgotten a lot.  If he'd forgotten Lex's anger, he'd also forgotten his.  "Do you miss him?"

"Who?"

"Who I used to be; who I'm not any more."  The one who had played with Lex, laughed with him, shared things with him, lived in the same time and experienced the same things as him.  Clark was irrationally jealous of himself before he set that aside as useless.

Lex closed his eyes.  Clark listened to his heartbeat; not perfectly steady but not ratcheting up to fear speeds either.

"It's hard to miss a dream," Lex finally said, opening his eyes and standing up in one smooth motion.  He held out his hand to Clark, "Coming?"

Clark reached for it automatically, his heart in his throat.  "Where?"

"Well, first, you need to put on a shirt." Lex's smirk was definitely on the lascivious side.  "But after that… I thought you could show me your museum."

Clear blue eyes, meeting his, full of determination… and hope.  Clark took his friend's hand, and stood up to join him in the present time.  Not a dream, not the past.  Their new life.

* * *

  
End

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: The shaving by using the heat rays is actually in the comics. Silver Age, I think. It would be impossible to reconcile all versions of Superman canon (heck, even reconciling Smallville itself is pretty impossible ;p), but I thought I'd give this one a go.
> 
> Note 2: The Devilicus haircut? Not canon. ;p But we've only got the single picture of them from the show and who's to say it may not have been different in another comic. And hey, I was amusing myself. ^^  
> \------  
> Also posted at [my Livejournal](http://tallihensia.livejournal.com/257261.html).
> 
> * * *
> 
> Note on the "next stories" -- they're not really next stories. "Execution" and "New Life" were complete as they were. However, people kept asking me for more in the universe, so the ficlets that follow are more "timestamps" of bits and pieces from the universe, rather than being actual "stories in a series".


End file.
